Vulnerable
by GlenWing
Summary: Draco Malfoy knows his father doesn’t love him, and when he turns down a golden opportunity, what problems will he face? soz i suck at summaries! sequel up! see exposed!


Vulnerable

Rated T for hints at child abuse.

N.B. this story is set in the summer holiday before the seventh year at Hogwarts. It assumes that Draco never took the Dark Mark, as Harry thought, at the beginning of the sixth year.

Description

Draco Malfoy knows his father doesn't love him, and when he turns down a golden opportunity, what problems will he face. (I was going to be a one shot, but if I get enough reviews I might be persuaded to carry on.)

Draco flung himself onto his bed, tears flowing freely down his cheeks, the salty taste making his mouth bitter, but still he cried; silently, so that he did not invite his already enraged father's temper. Salty rivulets wound their way down his face to drip onto his lap. He cried until he had no tears left, until his eyes were red and raw. He looked down at his sheets, now drenched in salt water. And thought how many times in the past had it come to this.

_Too many_ he thought ruefully. The tears started again, he rolled onto his back and instantly regretted it. A biting pain shot across his spine, he fought back a yell and got off his bed and staggered over to the large ebony mirror in the corner of his room. He slowly peeled of his shirt, yet more pain erupted across his skin and his face scrunched up in agony. At last he let the garment fall to the floor and slowly turned around. He closed his eyes in horror at what his own father had inflicted on his son. Blood trickled down toward his trousers, soaking into the black material, causing it to stick to him. There was so much of it. Slowly he took out his wand, the manor was already saturated in magic, and his father wouldn't notice a few small charms.

"Tergeo." he said quietly, pointing his wand over his shoulder, his hand shaking slightly as the spell siphoned up the blood still trickling down his body. When it had disappeared he slumped slightly. He would normally try to heal them, but he wasn't sure he could manage it in his condition. That, and if his father realised that he had healed the wounds, he might just find a reason to cause more. He took of his trousers, leaving small smears of blood on his legs, and examined his lower limbs. Nothing more dangerous than some nasty bruising appeared. _At least nothings broken_ he thought, quietly thankful.

Realising that the bleeding would start again soon he quickly pointed his wand at the wounds and muttered, "Ferula", and watched as soft linen bandages appeared from no-where and wrapped themselves around his torso and shoulders. _That's a bit better. _He thought to himself, as the pain slowly began to ebb away. _Just as long as I don't make any sudden movements._

He limped over to his bed, and, slowly, so as not to disturb the bandages, put on the dark green dressing gown draped on it. Then he decided to get his ruined clothes taken care of. His father generally left his room untouched, but occasionally he came in for an inspection. And the last thing he would want to see would be bloody clothes on the floor, even if he had been the one responsible for the damage.

"Moxy." He called in a small voice. And a second later a house elf appeared with a small "Crack!" next to him.

"Did master call?" She said in a squeaky voice.

"Yes, take my clothes and have them cleaned."

"Yes young master." She made a long bow and scuttled off to get his clothes, bundling them up, she disappeared with another small "Crack!"

He sat down on his bed again. The tears threatened to surface, but he fought them back, trying to regain control over his shattered body. If his father walked in now and found him in tears, he would probably have to conjure some more bandages.

"_A Malfoy does not cry, nor does he show emotion to his enemies. He is as a granite wall to them: impassive, calm and resolute. Unshaken by the feelings his body inflicts upon him." _

One of his fathers first lessons to him. And he had learned it oh so well. His mother wasn't at home at the moment. She was enjoying the warm hospitality of his grandparents in the south of France. Father was only like this when she wasn't around to see. His mother was his shield, his protection. She never allowed Lucius to be violent to Draco when she was around. He loved her as much as he hated and feared his father. But she was far away, and his father was here and now.

Suddenly his father's voice echoed through the corridors of the manor, magically amplified to terrifying proportions. The stern tone designed to brook no argument, and to verbally beat someone into submission at the same time.

"I expect you in the great hall for dinner at six o'clock sharp, Draco. Do not be late, we will have company. It will go badly for you if you shame me again."

_Great." _He thought. _Just great. _But the thought of company intrigued him. Why would his father invite someone at such short notice? Especially with his wife in France, and his son in his current condition. _Humiliation probably. _Yes, that would be it. But still, why without his mother? He stretched out on his bed, wincing silently at the pain, wishing he could do something more about it. He closed his eyes and drifted off into sleep.

He dreamed of his father, and the dream quickly turned into a nightmare. Every time his father had ever beaten or abused him now flashed before his eyes. On his bed his body writhed and turned, crumpling the covers on which lay.

He dreamed…

When his father had lost Dobby. He had been furious, outwitted by Potter and a sock. He had come home in a rage. His mother had tried to calm him, but he needed an outlet. A scapegoat. He had stormed through the house, slamming doors, beating at statues with his cane. And when his son had come home two days later he had been waiting in his room. The minute he had entered his father had flicked his wand at the door behind him; it had shut with a strange click. Draco had barely had had enough time to drop his luggage when the first blow of the cane had found its mark in his belly.

"_You're worthless!" _His father had yelled. _"You think you can carry on the Malfoy family name?"_ kicks and blows from his cane punctuated his every word. _"Pah! I can't even trust you with a house elf, a servant! You are an insult to my name, to me!"_ He had felt like screaming at the injustice of it all. It was his father who had lost Dobby, not him. Why was it his fault? The beating had gone on for a long while; he had endured it in silence, as he had been taught, as he had learned to. And when his father's anger had lessened a little, he had strode off slamming the door behind him, without a care for his son lying crumpled on the floor.

Blur…

When he had failed to win the Quidditch cup in the third year, resorting to cheating to try and steal some glory from Potter, to try and win some glory with his father watching. But he had failed in both respects. And had paid for it.

"_A Malfoy does not cheat." _Were the first words he heard his father say when he got through the door at the beginning of the summer. He had glowered at his son, his cane in his hand, swinging. _"You besmirch the name of your fathers! I bought you and your entire team new brooms! And Potter manages to beat you! Potter! You'll never get anything off me again until you have proved to me that you can use it." _He had mumbled something about Potter having a Firebolt, but that had only enraged his father more. _"It doesn't matter how good your equipment is, only that you now how to use it!" _He had snapped. _"You were useless, worse than useless! You shamed me in front of your whole school, mudbloods, muggle-lovers the lot of them! Now bare your back and take your punishment like I taught you." _He still had the faded scars from where the metal head had bitten into his skin. Where his mothers spell couldn't quite heal the wounds.

Blur…

When he was five, and had snuck into his father's office. He had wanted to show his father that he could be resourceful, clever, and sly. All the things his father had taught him to be. He was going to steal something out of his father's desk and the replace it later, undetected. But his father had powerful spells surrounding his chambers, and Draco was caught.

"_A Malfoy must learn obedience, no matter how young."_ He had said, as he had chained the young Draco to the dungeon wall. _"Remember this Draco."_ He whispered in the young boy's ear, as he stood there shackled, silent, and shaking with fear. _"Next time I won't let you off so lightly."_ He had left Draco there for a whole night, at the age of five. In the darkness and silence that saturated the lowest levels of the Malfoy Manor.

And he had learned, remembered. But it hadn't helped him. He could never please his father no matter how hard he tried.

Blur…

But today had been different. Today his father had offered him the Dark Mark. Offered him power, and rank in the order of Lord Voldemort's most faithful servants.

And he had refused.

Even his mother would be unable to protect him now. His friends would hate him, they would all take the Mark, and of course they would. They were all respectable Death Eater children, and so he had been. Until the end of last year.

He had been given an assignment, to prove his loyalty to the Great Lord of Darkness. A mighty task that even Voldemort had never achieved. To find a way of killing the ultimate enemy of He Who Must Not Be Named. Albus Dumbledore. 

And he had. A way so ingenious, that even Dumbledore himself had failed to see through it. A way of letting the Death Eaters into Hogwarts itself under his very, crooked, nose. And he had cornered the old fool, on that tower, and he had felt power. As if some great force was tugging at him, whispering to him, _Kill him! Kill him now! _And then, somehow, wandless and alone, Dumbledore had stood up to him. He had planted the seed of doubt in Draco's mind. And the creeper that sprung from it had twisted through his consciousness as fast as a bolt of lightening. And, within minutes of Dumbledore talking, he no longer felt the unerring sense to kill. He looked into to the old mans face and saw, not fear, but pity. He saw in his eyes sadness, and knew that, if he killed Dumbledore now, in a way, he would be hurting himself more than he would the old wizard. He had offered Draco and his family safety, security.

Then the Death Eaters had shown up, and everything had gone wrong. They had urged him to kill the fool, who was now not so foolish in Draco's eyes. And he could not. Then Snape had done the deed for him, with a cold, stark efficiency that had sent a shock wave right through him, down to his core. He had felt like screaming as the curse tore Dumbledore's life away. His last chance of escape had gone. He was truly alone. He had run, fearing to be caught by the teachers, and punished for a crime he did not commit. He fled with the Death Eaters. He watched as they freed his father from Azkaban, and led the dementors in a grand revolt. He couldn't turn back from this path, but he couldn't walk forward either. He was stuck.

And now, by refusing to take the mark, he had now he had made an enemy, of not only his father, but also possibly the most powerful wizard on earth. And just the thought of his wrath made him shiver with fear; he could use that protection now. But he knew that if he went even within 1 mile of any member of the Order of the Phoenix, he was likely to be arrested on site if not killed. This was not to mention his "friends" from school, children he had grown up with and knew as well as anybody, they would all turn against him, every last one of them.

_No where to run, no where to hide. You are alone._

Blur… 

"Draco!"

He woke with a start.

"Draco! Our guests are arriving, get ready!" His father's voice hit him like a whiplash. He rolled off the bed and ran to the window, the pain in his back forgotten. Carriages with coats of arms on the doors, and vintage cars driven by chauffeurs drew up outside the house, accompanied by the sharp "Cracks!" of apparation. He knew the people entering the house. There was the Knott family, and the Crabbes, and Mr and Mrs Goyle. He felt a chill run through his body. More and more familiar faces appeared in the gloom, some of them masked, some of them open. He slid down onto the floor, suddenly out of breath.

_Death Eaters _He thought.

Death Eaters in the house. He shouldn't be shocked, he had seen them before, and the house had been a base of operations for so many of their plans. But why were they all here. It didn't make any sense, especially with his mother away.

Then the thought hit him. His father was going to make him take the Mark in public. So this is why he didn't want his mother around. She had never wanted her son to take the mark; she had always been against the idea, her and his father had had so many arguments about it. Arguments he was never meant to hear. But now Lucius had got her out of the way. And his shield from the darkness of his father…gone. He was vulnerable.

A leaden lump descended into the pit of his stomach and refused to move. He couldn't let them do this; he wouldn't take it. Not now, not ever. But how could he stop them? How could he stop his father? In this house he was powerless. Then he felt anger, rising from the depths of his soul. He was not powerless.

_A Malfoy is never powerless. He always knows exactly what to do. _

And for once his father was right. He knew exactly what he had to do. He summoned Moxy to him again.

"Yes master?" She said.

"Moxy, get me a pack and fill it with food and clothes, do not be seen, let no one know what you are doing."

"Yes master." She replied, and disappeared.

He then ran over to the wardrobe. And started flinging clothes out of it, choosing some black jeans, a black top and a black zip-up fleece, he flung these on. Next he ran to his desk, and took a few useful items out of it and shoved these in his pockets. A sharp "Crack" made him turn around, wand in hand, but it was only Moxy, carrying a large black rucksack.

"Moxy has done what master Malfoy wanted." She said, bowing low.

"Thank you Moxy." He said.

"Yes master." She said humbly, before exiting the room again.

Draco quickly un-zipped the pack and looked inside. Spare underwear, a few items of clothing, food, the kind that would last, and a map. _I need to remember to thank her if I ever see her again. _He thought. Then a large hammering at the door caught his attention.

"Draco!" It was the voice of Theodore Knott, his "friend" from school; he had already taken the Mark earlier that summer. His father had been proud.

"We know you're in there! Open up!" Oh, god! Not Pansy Parkinson. Anyone but her. She had also taken the Mark, only a week ago she had written to him, telling him the "joyful" news.

His mind raced. He looked over to the false panelling that hid the secret passage out of his room and into the cellars. His friends knew about it of course, but it might just give him a head start.

The door started to open.

"Colloportus!" He yelled, pointing his wand at the door. It promptly slammed shut in their faces, locking with a strange squelching sound. Muffled shouts could be heard from the other side, as the two teenagers struggled against the locking spell.

That was all the time he needed. He grabbed his bag, and ran over to the area of wooden panels where he knew the passage lay, and hammered on it twice. It slid open. He wriggled through the small door, and slid it closed behind him; then, checking that he still had everything ran down the thin staircase toward the cellars. Half way down he heard a small crash and assumed it was his friends finally getting through his spell. He kept on running. He reached the small door that led into the lower cellar and hammered on that, running through it as it opened and sliding it shut again quickly. He sprinted the whole length of the cellar, past the dusty old bottles, the great wooden barrels, and pushed open the wrought iron door that led out into the manor grounds.

Fear started to seep through him now. He ran toward the copse of yew trees where he knew he could rest for a second without being seen. He slipped on the muddy ground, he knew he was leaving tracks, but he would be able to apparate once outside the grounds.

But where to? _I don't care! Anywhere but here. Anywhere away from them, away from him._

He reached the trees at last, breathing heavily. He was used to exercise, but the fear was making his limbs seem more tired than they would be. He leaned against the bole of one of the trees for support. He knew what would be happening inside. Pansy and Theo would have realised what had happened, and would have told his father by now; he could almost imagine them running into the great hall shouting _"Draco's run for it, Draco's run for it!" _He could imagine his father's face, the fury that was suffusing him. Then he heard it.

Barking…

Fear rose again in his limbs. His father had released the hounds on him. He knew those dogs; they never lost the scent, and could run faster than he could. They, like his father, would show no mercy. He ran. A light appeared at the end of his wand, casting a small radiance around him. He knew it wasn't far until he reached the western part of the wall that surrounded the manor and its grounds. The barking was drawing much closer. He risked a glance over his shoulder, they were drawing in to him, and he could see one or two of them in detail by the light from his wand. The saliva patterning their teeth, the snarls that issued from between curled lips and gnashing jaws. He tripped over a root of some kind and feel flat on his face. He rolled over and shouted the first spell that came to his mind as the first snarling animal leapt at him.

"Stupefy!" He yelled; a bright red jet of light emitted from his wand and slammed into the hound, throwing him backwards and into another of the animals, both of them rolled onto the floor unconscious. He scrabbled to his feat and faced the rest of the snarling dogs that were now advancing slowly onto him, warily. He pointed his wand at the floor between their feet.

"Incendio!" The grass caught on fire, quickly turning into a roaring blaze. The dogs yelped and howled in fear. He didn't have much time. Those dogs didn't give up, and anyway, that fire would act as a beacon for anyone trying to find him. At that very second he heard shouting, and saw a small party of men running toward him, illuminated in the firelight.

He sprinted on, running flat out; he could hear his father screaming at him. He heard someone yell a spell of some kind, and ducked. Yellow light grounding itself in the grass a few feet away. He could see the wall, and the gate that he was aiming for. He pointed his wand at it.

"Bombarda!" He yelled and the gate was blasted open. He ducked another curse from one of the Death Eaters behind him. But it barely missed him. He was nearly there; he was within meters of freedom.

Suddenly someone barrelled into him, throwing him to the ground. He struggled and wrenched himself around to face his attacker, it was his father. Lucius yelled a spell, and Draco's wand was blasted from his grasp to land only a few feet away. He was weaponless. But he struggled on regardless. _I will not go back! I won't! _

"No you bloody well will not!" Yelled his father, enraged, the other Death Eaters were going to be here any second. His father must have run faster, fuelled by hatred of his weakling son.

"Get off me!" Draco yelled, struggling against his father's grip on his wrists.

"You're not going to get away Draco!" Screeched his father, "I am going to take you home, and beat the living daylights out of you! Then whatever is left will take the Mark!"

"I won't!" Said Draco through gritted teeth.

"You have no choice." Said his father, turning around. "We're over here!" he yelled in the direction of the other Death Eaters.

That remark put fresh strength into Draco's limbs. He was going to break free; he wouldn't be his father's pawn any longer. But he had no wand.

"There's always a choice." He said, and gathering every last bit of strength in his body, kneed his father solidly in the balls. Lucius, not expecting this, keeled over instantly, clutching the offending member and groaning. Draco meanwhile rolled over onto his stomach, and groped quickly for his wand. He found it.

"Lucius! Where are you?" The rest of the gang was closing. He staggered upright and half limped half ran toward the gate.

"Don't worry about me, get him!" Screamed his father at the Death Eaters who were trying to help him up. But it was too late. Draco was through the gate.

He had less than a minute to get out of there. He stuffed his wand in his pocket. Where would he go? Where wouldn't they find him? He had an idea, but apparating that far…He had no choice. He gathered all his strength, concentrated on that destination with all his might. And with a final "Snap!" He disappeared from sight. His father howling in fury behind him.

_Freedom. _That was the last thought on his mind as he hit the pavement, his knees giving in, his mind going blank. _Freedom._

End…(of part one? Maybe if I get enough reviews :P)

Plz read and review! If you want me to carry on any suggestions on plot directions would be great!


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